A blog (a portmanteau of the term web log) is a personal journal published on the World Wide Web consisting of discrete entries (“posts”) typically displayed in reverse chronological order so the most recent post appears first.
Anyway. Ya’ll know me. Or do you?
Seeing as I’ve never, ever said anything about myself in my ‘personal’ journal, you don’t.
My name is Devdan. I like coffee, arithmetic, books, pillows and a good nights sleep. I dislike hot things, cold things, headaches, and hate.
I write. Sorry, I used to write. Being one of my worst critics, I haven’t been able to write anything that passes my own certifications for quality for a good 6 months.
I haven’t been able to have a good nights sleep since I discovered, quite suddenly, that I don’t love.
Love is this emotion I cannot compehend. I cannot define it, I cannot diagnose my feelings towards a person and examine if it is indeed, love.
You won’t find faith or hope down a telescope
You won’t find heart and soul in the stars
You can break everything down to chemicals
But you can’t explain a love like ours.
~ Science and Faith (The Script)
What the flying hippopotamus is love anyway, eh?
I don’t know.
Love is a very easy thing to talk about, it seems.
I ❤ U
And the job is done.
Funny, the way I see it, this has… cheapened the idea of love. Love is no longer a sacred thingummy that binds two people for life. ‘I love you’, a person screams, ‘Let us marry!’
And then comes the now-expected-so-let’s-yawn news that the two lovebirds are indeed crows. And have divorced.
Love is so cheap now, there is a festival for love held every year, and you get some flowers or chocolates or some waxing cream and that seems quite enough. It costs you about 50 bucks and you get a nice partay.
I think there is more to appreciate in love when you don’t feel it. Meh.
Moving on now.
Like I said, I have not been able to write anything decent for half a year. That, I think, can be attributed to me finding, funnily, friends. No longer do I need to sit in front of a computer screen trying to pour out all my angst out in a few words. No longer do I feel the need to try to write something just so that all those people who think I write well shall not feel disappointed by the fact that writing now seems… inconsequential to me. I don’t really give a damn. Often inspiration strikes and I write a quick few verses and feel better.
Thirdly, like I said, I have been hesitant to express my feelings to people. Forget a blog, forget some random friends, I am very secretive even with people I consider close enough to be family. Being lonely is like a drug, I think. Like I said, I don’t love them. Sorry. But that is not the reason, no. The only reason I don’t like to speak about myself, and many people don’t like to speak about themselves, as far as I know, can be described in one word. Ego.There’s this whole thought process you have to go through when you do not want to admit, even to yourself, that there’s something wrong. Fuck asking my friends for advice and support, I can handle it. I can. I…. can… I…
That’s not the wisest thing to do, I know, I know. Thing is, 95% of this world have serious problems with how they are living and dealing with things. The rest are dying.
(Yes, the figures were arbitrarily made up, sue me.)
Thing is, there are fucked up people and fucked up people. They all need help, but they’ve got to ask the help of another fucked up person, to.. you know, feel temporarily better.
A close friend of mine, well… I thought he was close. (OMG I REVEALED HIS GENDER?!!) Well, yeah. He’s been particularly unlucky about the quality of life he has received, relatively. And, well, as a friend of his, and also because of my personal opinion that he’s one of the smartest, awesome people around, I want to help him. Can I??
I want to, but he doesn’t want me to. And I understand, man, I do. So basically, I am supposed to watch this awesome person slowly wither, and there is nothing I can do. Nothing. Nothing.
Feeling helpless sucks. At least, for me it does. If I ever meet a boggart I would see myself helpless in some form or the other. It’s my greatest fear, in case you’re a muggle and have not read Harry Potter. I’ve felt helpless before, and it’s not a nice feeling, sure. Imagine a person who always tries their best to be in control. Always. In. Control.
Imagine never being able to express your emotions directly because, hey, gotta keep that shit in check, or it all becomes worse. Imagine never being angry, never being sad, never being happy, never beanything. That seems a bad life to live, but I have resigned myself to that. THEN, imagine it all falling apart. Imagine, mate. Like a river that has been controlled by some dam, it breaks out. Those are my bad days. My helpless days.
On the good ones I just cry, keep on crying until who knows when, time just stops passing, and I just get to pick up the pieces and move on.
On the bad days there is some ass in front of me, and I lash out. Anger is exhilarating, and I find that if I can’t keep my emotions in check, it commonly converts to anger. I lash out against the ass, destroy his idiocy by all the horrible things I am just bursting to say.
I am good at that. But, they deserve it. :3
On the worse days, there is someone who I like. In front of these people, I become like a whiny, snivelling teenager, just not able to continue, just hanging on. Thing is, people don’t understand me. Not their fault, yes, but they don’t. They don’t understand why I have to bottle myself down, why I have to keep trying to be perfect. Hell, how can I expect them to? I don’t know myself.
And on the worst days, there is nothing. I spend hours, days, weeks in the most recent case, just… not there. I am as fragile as a pencil. A piece of glass falling on the floor makes me cry. Someone speaking leaves me angry. And worst, the feeling of helplessness. The feeling of despair, the feeling of being a tiny speck in a fucking huge world, and being that and that only.
I am in that last phase now. Been like that for weeks. This time, I am sorta just detached from everything, you know. Just.. not there. And that is why I am able to write this shit. After posting this, I shall be able to tell my closest friends to read this, because I owe that, at least, to them.
Right now I am feeling helpless for a lot of things. My friend, who I shall call Nyan, is obviously suffering. Silently, slowly, suffering. There seems nothing that I can do to make him feel better. My marks have been… for lack of a word, downright bull, and that is going to make college admissions a right pain. I am seventeen, going to turn eighteen in two months, and I’ve never even had a freaking girlfriend. Life seems to be a-calling, things seem to be a-changing, and all I can hope for is that I turn out okay. And that Nyan feels better.
And now that that is done, I shall now entertain the obviously bored/curious reader/ spambot with this: